


How Do You Say...?

by three_days_late



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7741843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_days_late/pseuds/three_days_late
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and England are finally getting married! Or they will, if America can get that Celtic translated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do You Say...?

**Author's Note:**

> This was the second thing I wrote for the thank you present for the usxuk community mods. This was actually based off of a thing that happened to me in real life when I used to work at the library. Good times.

 

"Japan quick!" the constant knocking and shouting woke Japan from his peaceful slumber, "I need your help!" He sighed and got out of bed to open the hotel room door.

"Good evening, America-san," he answered, suppressing a yawn, "How may I be of assistance?"

America responded by shoving a piece of paper in his face, "Quick! Translate this for me!"

Japan blinked and moved the letter so it was at a readable distance, but it was written in a language that he'd never seen before, "I'm sorry America-san but, what language is this in?"

"Celtic."

He lowered the paper and gave him a blank look, "I'm very sorry, but I don't speak Celtic."

America whined, "Not even a little?"

"Why don't you ask England-san?" Japan suggested as he handed back the letter, "I'm sure he knows some Celtic."

"I can't ask England. He's the one who gave it to me," he sighed and scratched the back of his head as Japan waited patiently for the explanation, "You know how I was going to propose to England right?"

Japan nodded. Last week, America had called to ask him, along with just about every other nation he knew, for advice on this matter.

"I ended up hiding the ring in the restaurant and having England look for it," he laughed, "I guess England didn't find it as awesome as I did. Instead of a definite yes, he gave me this and told me to translate it. If I can do it in twenty four hours, he said he'll marry me."

"Congratulations America-san," Japan smiled, "I'm happy for both of you."

"Yeah, well," America blushed and turned away, "He hasn't _exactly_ said yes yet."

"I'm sure he will. You know how he gets with emotional displays. If you want, I could run it through the new translator program I've been developing."

"Yeah, well, England said I can't use computers and stuff, so…"

"I understand. Then, if you can't ask England-san, the next logical step would be to ask his brothers, wouldn't it? I'm sure they would know about as much Celtic as he would."

"I guess you're right," America glanced up and down the hall, "Which room are they in?"

Japan looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand in his room, "It's two in the morning. Why don't you try asking them later at the meeting? When they're awake?"

"But Japan," he pouted, "Every second counts! I'll have to pull a Jack Bauer for this! That means no eating, no sleeping, no bathroom breaks until I get England to say yes."

"I don't think England-san's brothers will take very kindly to being awoken in the middle of the night," he shrugged, "If you want to risk it, however, that is your choice."

America crossed his arms and thought about it for a moment, "On second thought, a small nap wouldn't kill me," he turned and walked away with a wave, "Good night Japan."

"Good night, America-san," Japan responded as he closed the door, "I wish you luck on your quest."

* * *

"I don't speak Cornish," was all Ireland could think to say to America when he found him at the meeting the next day and shoved the paper in his hands.

"It's not Cornish, it's Celtic. You speak Celtic right?"

"I speak _Irish_ ," he corrected, "which is a _Celtic language_ that is spoken in _Ireland_. There are several Celtic languages that I don't speak, such as Cornish, since it's spoken in southern _England_ ," he handed the paper back to America, "and that's what this is."

"Irish, Cornish," America shrugged, "same thing if you think about it."

"That's like saying English and Swedish are the same thing," Ireland sighed and rubbed a temple, "I could probably make _some_ sense out of it if I wanted to."

"Awesome!"

"Problem is I don't want to. Do your own homework."

"What? Ireland c'mon! It's important," he whined.

Ireland sighed and pointed to the greeting, "This part is your name, or your approximate name, since there is no Cornish word for America. This," he pointed to the closing, "is England's name."

"Gee, thanks for telling me how a letter works," America rolled his eyes, "England's not going to marry me unless I translate the whole thing! If you're not going to help me, do you at least know someone who does speak Celtic?"

"Cornish," he corrected, "and England speaks it."

"Not helping."

Ireland paused and thought about it for a moment, "Breton is spoken in some northern parts of France, so he might know some," America gave him a blank stare, "Breton is another Celtic language. It's actually closer to Cornish than Irish is, so he'd be more help to you anyway."

"Really? Cool! Thanks dude!" but before he could run off to bug France, the meeting started and everyone had to take their seats.

A smile grew on Ireland's face as he noticed, throughout the meeting, America exchanging notes under the table with France and England glaring suspiciously at them on the other side.

Those two were going to be so happy together.

* * *

France did not appreciate the incessant poking at his thigh not even five minutes into the meeting. Unfortunately he knew America wasn't going to let up anytime soon, so he had no choice but to see what he wanted. America handed him a note:

_Ireland said you speak Celtic._

France rolled his eyes but wrote back:

_I may possibly know a bit of Breton, but why would it matter when I can speak French?_

He passed it under the table to America, who quickly read it and scribbled back a response:

_1) French is weird._

_2) I need you to translate this for me. It's in Celtic or something._

Along with the piece they'd be writing on, America passed along another paper, a short letter written in was wasn't French or Breton. France shook his head and wrote:

_I can't read this._

America gave him his patented kicked puppy look that France refused to acknowledge, instead choosing to focus on whatever China was prattling on about at the front of the room. With a sigh, America scribbled something else down on the paper and passed it back:

_Please, can you just try? It's for love._

France took a second look at the letter. It wasn't Breton, but it was similar, probably Cornish, and he could pick up on at least one word, and if it was written by who he thinks it was, he could at least make an educated guess on the first sentence.

He circled it and passed it back to America:

_This means 'I love you.' Unfortunately that's all I can get from it._

America read the note, grinned like an idiot, and nodded his head in thanks.

As France leaned back in his chair, he noticed England shooting him a glare across the table. He responded in kind with a wink, making him go red and turn away. France chuckled at the display as he turned his attention back to China, reveling in the sound of America's scribbling attempts to translate the letter and the satisfied look England was giving the boy out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

New Zealand was the first to notice that, after the meeting, America was sitting off to the side, hunched over something and deep in thought. When he went to ask England about it, his mentor merely smirked and made no comment. When he went over to ask America about it himself, he found a piece of paper shoved in his face.

"Translate this for me please?" America asked.

"Well," New Zealand looked over the paper and tried to remember what little Cornish he knew, "The first part says 'I love you…'"

"Yeah, already got that," America leaned over to point out the next sentence, "Can you get that part for me?"

"It's, well, my Cornish is a little rusty-"

"What's going on here?" Australia slung an arm across his shoulder and read the paper, "What's with the Cornish?"

"Australia! Perfect!" America grinned, "You can translate it for me!"

"Don't really speak Cornish mate. England taught me a bit, but it never really stuck," he pointed an accusing finger at America, "You know a lot of languages. Why can't you just translate it yourself?"

"I don't speak Celtic! Well I might know a little," he conceded, "but not enough to translate the whole thing!"

"What are you talking about now?" Canada piped in as he appeared over America's shoulder and glanced at the paper, "Isn't that Cornish? Can't you just ask England what it means?"

"I can't do that, he gave it to me," America sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I have less than twelve hours to translate the rest, or England might not marry me."

"So you finally asked him," Australia gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder, "Way to go mate!"

"But it won't mean a thing if I can't figure out this Celtic."

"Well, there are four of us," New Zealand noted as he worked through their current predicament, "and we all know a little bit of Cornish. Between the four of us, I'm sure we can come up with the answer."

"That's right Kiwi," Australia ruffled his hair, "I'm sure we can come up with something."

Before he could protest, New Zealand found himself dragged along with the others back to America's hotel room, forced to spend the rest of the night trying to figure out what England wrote.

The things he did for his crazy, adoptive family.

* * *

England was sitting in his room, reading but not really focusing on the words, when he heard the knock on his door. He snapped his book shut and sprinted across the room, pausing for a moment to collect himself before opening the door to let America in.

"I think I've got it!" he announced as he immediately entered the room jumped onto the bed, "We've been working on it all afternoon."

"And?" England crossed his arms and tried to suppress his smirk, "What does it say?"

America pulled the wrinkled paper out of his pocket, cleared his throat, and read, "'America: I love you. You great green toed elephant mackerel of the zombie apocalypse can't jump. Seventy years from now alpacas will rule the world,' and there's something in there about heartburn."

He tried and failed to suppress the laughter that increased with every word, "Not even close."

America groaned and fell back on the bed, "Not even a little?"

England crawled onto the bed and lay down next to him, "The first sentence was right," he conceded as he cuddled up next to his lover, "I'm not exactly sure how you got the rest."

"Oz kept saying you were talking about koalas," he sighed, "I guess this means you're not going to marry me."

"Well, you still have," England lifted his head a bit and looked over at the clock on the nightstand, "thirty minutes left," he put his head down on America's chest and snuggled closer, "You have time."

"Yeah, that doesn't do me much good," he wrapped an arm around England, "I've already asked like, everyone who speaks Celtic."

"Are you sure?" he shifted up so he was whispering in America's ear, "I happen to be _fluent_ in Cornish you know."

America turned his head to look into his eyes and frowned, "Yeah, but I'm translating it _for_ you, so-"

"I said you couldn't use technology," he kissed his cheek and pulled out of his embrace with a smirk, "I never said you couldn't ask _me_."

America grinned and sat up, holding the paper out for England, "Hey, do you think you can translate this for me? This guy I'm kinda in love with said he wouldn't marry me otherwise, so it's really important."

England smiled and took the paper, "I'll see what I can do."

After about five seconds of writing, he handed the paper back to his fiancé. America promptly read it and tossed it aside, opting instead to pull England into a hug and plant kisses all over his face, repeating in between kisses, "I love you. You're a jerk, but I love you," while England laughed and slipped his hand into America's jacket pocket to pull out the ring he knew was there. Sensing what he was doing, America pulled away and took the ring, carefully putting it on England's finger himself. England smiled as he looked at his hand before leaning forward and pulling America into a slow kiss, leaving the note on the floor below.

_My dear America,_

_I love you. Stupid idiot, of course I'll marry you, even if you can't get this translated, I'd marry you a thousand times. Let's see how much you like going on pointless searches._

_Love always and forever,_

_England_


End file.
